Where, Oh, Where is My Ultimate Life-Logging Solution?

I need a life-event narration conglomerator. If I could get a smart device to capture all the stories I recount by mouth, by text, by email, by Facebook status update, and by Blogger, and jam them all into one place, I'd be ecstatic. I want to include the boys' funnies, my favorite recipes and baby gadgets, our adventures and all other sorts of life bits. I'd love this to be my spot. I think. I'm mostly consumed by the thought: Will my boys care to know about themselves (and other parts of my life) some day, and where can they be assured to find this information?

I have them set up with emails that I send stories to, on occasion, so if they all have links to this, or perhaps an exported file of these ramblings, maybe that will work. Who knows where technology will be by then. Is this like saving them an 8-track mix tape? I love the feel and process of writing in paper journals, but they aren't searchable and heaven knows they would need to pay a cryptologist to decipher my handwriting.

This takes so much discipline and perseverance, and a compatible baby, who currently is enjoying a repetitive loop of nursing for 4 minutes, then playing for 2 minutes, before clawing back at me with his teary demands. Now I need to go write to the Facebook people for a log of all my posts that I can paste into this. Oh, that was a good laugh.  I'll go find 'em myself.

It looks like I have another 2 minutes to scramble. Even Ian has figured out Elijah's favorite pastime. He observed: There goes Elijah looking for more paper to eat.

p.s. I will now go *grunkle into my new life-changing device. You do not know this, but I have the power of retro-inventing. I invent things in my mind and they appear as someone else's recent-past invention. I stomp my foot that I won't get paid for it, but move on to the pre-fabricated solution, resigned to the fact that I'd have been too lazy to figure out how to make it exist.

p.p.s. This particular instance of retro-inventing might involve the use of a time machine and a brain implant that has allowed me to download selective bits of memory and Oculartography and convert them into the 2010 HTML text version.

*You will have to search my blog for the meaning of this word, if it is not apparent.

I want sleep NOW! But, first...

I finally admit I'm a sleep fighter.  That's the first step, right?  An hour past bed time last night, my eyelids were so droopy tired, I was using them for slippers, yet I found myself in the closet, suddenly very concerned about the whereabouts of Isaac's hand-me-down winter coats.  Brian, festively adorned with an assortment of toddlers, diapers and tooth brushes, caught me mid-rifle to gently offer his support:  "You know, maybe this is a good time to tear the house apart for those coats.  We might need those tonight."  Aww, what a sweet ma-- now hang on a second -- I think I just got patronized!

I reluctantly gave up my search and found a small set of teeth to brush.  My sweet Brian already had Isaac in some cute little fire truck pajamas.  Ian, still prancing around in his squeaky-clean skin, insisted on having fire trucks too.  I opened the pajama drawer and was immediately transfixed by its disarray.  Brian was solidly into his narration of Tiger Can't Sleep, with Isaac tucked in the crook of his arm and naked Ian balanced precariously on the edge of the bed.  My hunt for more fire trucks segued into a full-blown drawer organization project.  My eyes were crossing, but this was "important."  About the time Tiger was one-man-band-ing, Brian realized I was into "it" again.  "Amy, what are you...?"  "Here they are!  Ian, let's put on your fire trucks"  "O.K., now come to bed....plllease."  "Hang on, I have to put all this back."

Finally, we're all tucked into bed. The last story is read.  Ian and Brian are discussing who will turn off the light.  An idea assaults my groggy brain:  Hey, I should go microwave that squishy little foot warmer thingy...